


Useless

by DualWieldingCousland (DualWieldingMama)



Series: The Other Regan [27]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Gen, implied Cullen/Female Trevelyan, references to Cullen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-19
Updated: 2015-10-19
Packaged: 2018-04-27 01:27:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5028382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DualWieldingMama/pseuds/DualWieldingCousland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>First off - Trespasser spoilers.  This story takes place at the very end of Trespasser and beyond.</p>
<p>Now that that has been stated as clearly as possible ... this is just a working title.  It’ll probably change at some point.</p>
<p>Summary - Regan has finally caught up with Solas, only to discover his true plans, such as they are.  She is joined in the crossroads by Dorian, Sera, Blackwall/Thom Rainier, and ... eventually Iron Bull.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> (There’s a slight divergence from the game here. Regan had thought she could both save the dreadnought and reach the Chargers to protect them. She lost all but Krem, who spent nearly seven months in a coma. Because Krem survived, and Regan never let Bull think she was ok with what happened, things didn’t go the way the game takes it when you sacrifice the Chargers). So, yeah ... this “chapter” takes place in the Crossroads and the Winter Palace.

Regan dropped to her knees in front of him, despite her efforts to ignore the flaring mark on her left hand.  She cried out, right hand clenching just below the elbow.  Dammit, this was _his_ fault; she didn’t want him to know how badly it hurt.  She was supposed to be _stronger_ than this, wasn’t she?  She dug her teeth into her lip, all but tearing through the fragile skin to keep from crying out again.  She could feel wet on her cheeks – traitorous tears for one she’d considering a friend dulling the anger in her eyes.

“The mark will eventually kill you.”

She wanted to slap him.  She wanted to wrap her hands around the collar of that stupid armor he was wearing … rip that damned fur off his shoulder and shake him, fling him against the ground.  It was _his_ fault this was happening to her.  He gave the damned orb to Corypheus in the first place.  It was _his_ fault this glowing green monstrosity was now coursing through her.  It was _all_ his fault, and he had the nerve to be so …  damned … calm.

“Drawing you here gave me the chance to save you … at least for now.”

She wanted to say something … anything ... but what could she say to someone who had just told her he planned to end the world, to fix an _ancient_ mistake?  Wasn’t that the same reason she had fought against Corypheus?  Hadn’t he been trying to do the same thing?  “If … if I live through this,” she growled, swallowing the pain and fighting back tears.  She thought of Cullen … of her new _husband_ and struggled to her feet, determined to fight through this.  “You _know_ there’s a better way; there has to be.  If I live, I’m going to have to stop you.”  She felt one knee start to buckle and mentally shook herself.  She would not … yes she would.  The knee gave way, followed by the other and she collapsed again, supporting herself with her good hand.

“I know.  Take my hand.”

She thought about refusing … considered spitting in his face or batting the hand away.  But if she was going to have a chance at stopping him … at stopping the end of the world, again, she had no real choice.  Regan reached for him, watched suspiciously as he wrapped slender fingers around the glowing mess her hand had become.  Her body tensed, readying itself for whatever new form of treachery he had up his sleeve.  

“I’m sorry.  Live well, while time remains.”

She wanted to ask what part he was sorry for … there was _so_ much to choose from.  But a sudden motion of his hand and she was feeling more pain, moving its way up her forearm.  Then, it stopped, though her hand and arm still glowed green.

“Boss!”

“There she is!”

“Is she alright?  Cullen will be most displeased if he finds out we got separated and she got hurt.”

“Cully’ll be downright furious, an’ I don’ wanna see who’ll get the worst.”

Familiar voices burst forth suddenly behind her, but Regan couldn’t bring herself to look away yet.  She had no clue what he was doing, but it was helping.  

“Just above the elbow,” was all Solas said as he dropped her hand, turned and headed for the mirror again.  

And she didn’t try to stop him.  Regan just knelt there, holding her arm, watching him go.  She relayed his message in a flat voice when the others reached her, barely registering when Rainier took her hand, stretched her arm out over a bit of fallen stone.  She didn’t seem to notice Bull raising his blade, Dorian’s hands shaking as he tried to remove enough of the armor covering her arm to allow a clean strike or even Sera grabbing her good hand for moral support.

“Maker’s ass!”  Rainier jumped back, dropping her arm as bits just seemed to … disappear.  

“It’s freakin’ melting!”  Sera’s worried voice chimed in with Rainier’s exclamation.

As a whole, the group turned to watch as her arm slowly broke away and faded into the ether.  Bull muttered something about the fade and magic.  Rainier kept staring at the slow-moving scene in front of him; he’d seen a lot of strange things while with the Inquisition, but this might beat all.  For once, Sera remained mostly silent, a worried whimper the only sound escaping.  Only Dorian seemed capable of rational thought … or what could pass for rational at a time like this.  

“Are you in pain?  Does _this_ hurt?”  He gestured toward disappearing arm; he even forgot to taunt Rainier or Sera for the rather unbecoming exclamations.  “Not melting, exactly.  It’s … dissolving?  I’ve never seen this type of … magic?  It must be magic, yes?”

Regan was surprised to realize that it _didn’t_ hurt … not any longer.  Even while watching bits of her flesh disappear, she felt no pain, just ….  “It just … tingles a little,” she murmured, feeling her stomach drop.  Was _all_ of her going to dissolve like the hand?  How far up was it going to go?  Was there any way to stop it?  At least no one else was attacking them, right?  
  
“Where’d Solas go?”

“Through the eluvian.”

Rainier started toward the nearest mirror, only stopping when Bull laid a hand on his shoulder.  “Not now.  Won’t do any good, and we _have_ to get her back.  She needs more help than just Dorian can give.”

“She _needs_ Cullen … and rest … and … well, and a _real_ healer – her brother if he’s still around when we get back to Skyhold ...”

“What she _needs_ is to beat some sense into that blasted lying elf.”  Her comment caught them all off guard.  “ _I’ve done what I could_ ,” she mimicked in a not-even-trying-for-accurate voice.  “ _I know little of the mark_.”  She watched as the last tendrils of her forearm disappeared, leaving a stub … just above the elbow … and roughly dragged the back of her right hand across her eyes.  “Nothing but _lies_.  This … _all_ of this … is all his damned fault.  And he knew it from the get.”

“I don’t mean to interrupt,” Rainier frowned, glancing over his shoulder at the eluvian Solas had disappeared through; it had already gone ‘dead’.  “But if we don’t get moving, we might end up stuck here.”

“He’s right.”  Dorian looked around for the mirror they’d come through, exhaling roughly when he saw it was still active.  “We’ll have to back-track, it seems.  Bull … Amatus, would you kindly carry our illustrious leader?  I’m not sure she should be walking, let alone running, right now.”  

“Not a problem, Kadan.”  The Iron Bull quickly returned the massive blade to its sheath and scooped Regan into his arms with little effort.  “Let’s go, Boss.”  At first, he considered throwing her over a shoulder and just running full-tilt, but the thought of jostling her that bad right then gave him pause.  So, he settled for cradling her against him, shifting so the nub of her left arm was nestled against the cool metal of the armor she’d outfitted him with before leaving the Winter Palace; she’d wanted him well armored if he needed to protect the others.

“Thank you, Amatus.”

“For what?”

“For … for not turning on us, back there.”  Dorian didn’t want to admit he’d been nervous when Bull had burst through the door, sword shouldered and wearing a smug expression.  And when the Viddasala had called to him, all but ordered their friend to fight them … for a second or two, it looked like the qunari had been considering it, taking a swing or two with his blade while watching them.  

“I … Kadan, I ….”  Bull sighed, not sure how to put into words everything that had gone through his mind in those few seconds.  

“You almost did, didn’t you.”  It wasn’t really a question, and she knew it was the truth the moment the thought passed her lips.  “You thought about it … about going back to the qun … to your old life.”  Regan peered up at him, knowing it would have been her fault if he had; she wouldn’t have blamed him at all.  Well, she wouldn’t have blamed him in retrospect; at the time, she probably would have hated him for it.  “What stopped you?”

“Let’s just say I’ve already lost too much.  I didn’t want to lose what little I had left.”  He offered them both a half-smile, knowing his answer wasn’t good enough.  But he didn’t really want to think about the implications just then.  “And I really didn’t want you to have to explain to Krem what had happened … not after everything else.”

“The healers say he’s recovered nicely,” Regan offered, appreciating the distraction as they all but leapt through the eluvian and ran for the next.  The idle chatter helped keep her mind off of her arm.  “After two years, you can barely tell anything had happened to him.  I can’t tell you how relieved I was to hear that ….”  She still hated that in her … she couldn’t really call it youthful pride; she hated that her assumption than she could do anything nearly got every single Charger killed.  But Krem had pulled through, after much work by several healers, and was doing better every day.

Bull laughed, a rich sound that, for a moment earlier, Dorian and Regan had feared they wouldn’t hear again.  “He loves showing off those scars, too.  You gave him one hell of a story to tell, Boss.”

“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon!  I don’t wanna get _stuck_ here.”  Sera motioned for them to move quicker before glancing at Dorian.  “Can’t you … I dunno … do _something_ to speed us up?”

Dorian bit back a response; they were all worried … about being stuck in this strange crossroads … about never making it back to their friends, and most importantly, about Regan’s condition.  Sera’s agitated reminder that he _did_ know a very good haste spell was at least well-intentioned.  “Indeed I do,” he replied, waiting until they’d gotten closer together before casting a spell that he rarely used.  And then, they were all but flying, running across pathways from mirror to mirror, retracing their steps past dead Qunari until they made it through the final one.  And each time they passed through, the mirror would go black as soon as the last one exited.

“Doesn’t want us following him,” Rainier grumbled, just stopping himself from slamming his shield into the mirror.  “I suppose it would be … bad … to break this one?”

“Probably,” Regan grumbled.  “But we need to have guards stationed here at _all_ times until we figure out what we’re going to do.”  She struggled to look over at Rainier, Bull’s bulk effectively blocking him from view.  “Blackw- … er … Thom, can you find some … trustworthy people to stand watch for now?”

“Certainly, Inquisitor.”  Rainier glanced over his shoulder at Sera and smiled.  “I believe Sera can help me ferret out the unreliable ones.  Come on, lass, let’s get to work.”

“Forgive me for bringing up unpleasant subjects, my friend, but … what exactly are we going to tell your Commander?”  Dorian hated the idea of telling Cullen they had just let Solas remove her arm, but since none of them had any idea what had actually happened, including her, he wasn’t sure how to explain it.

“Her husband, you mean?”

“How did _you_ know?”  Regan stared up at Bull, stunned.  She had thought they’d managed to keep the whole thing secret enough, only telling Leliana because they needed her people to keep the gazebo clear, and eventually admitting it to Cassandra, who was upset she hadn’t been invited until Regan pointed out that the only one invited had been Baron, Cullen’s new mabari, and Mother Gisele, who had performed the ceremony.

Bull just laughed, reminding her that he was a spy, while Dorian sputtered, looking hurt.  “You got married and didn’t invite _me_?  I thought we were _friends_.”

Regan smiled, reached out to try and touch his arm.  “It was … kind of unexpected,” she admitted.  “And quite rushed; I want to … we _will_ do something larger, for all our friends, once we get this council thing sorted out.  And I want you to be involved.”  She grinned as his face lit up when he nodded, trying to ignore the nerves at just how to tell Cullen … and Leliana … and the others … what Solas had done, what he was planning … _and_ about her arm.  Maybe the wedding idea would distract them?


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First off, consider this your warning; there are Trespasser spoilers - this takes place after Trespasser, so there will be at least one big thing from Trespasser mentioned here. 
> 
> Summary: It’s been a few weeks since they last went through the eluvian, and Regan is still trying to adjust to a missing arm. Takes place back at Skyhold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I still haven’t decided if Regan’s disbanding the Inquisition or not, yet.
> 
> Edited to include amazing artwork by galagraphia from tumblr)

“Maker’s _ass_!”  Regan couldn’t believe how much trouble she was _still_ having just getting dressed.  All her old outfits … from before … apparently involved buttons or toggles and while she had gotten better at fastening things one handed, it still took _forever_.  And when she felt rushed, or was running late, it was downright impossible.

She ripped the shirt off and flung it aside in disgust, adding to the already large pile in the corner.  If she bothered counting, she knew there were probably at least two shirts for every day that had passed since she traveled through the eluvian last.  And with each passing day, the pile just got larger.  With a frustrated sob, she dropped onto her bed and ran her fingers over the stub of her left arm.  Her fingertips followed the scarring as it all but knotted near the center, heart dropping a little with each stroke.

She couldn’t fight, couldn’t unlock doors or chests, couldn’t even get dressed or cut up her own damned food any longer.  The _only_ good thing that seemed to have come from any of this was that she had a husband, but even that felt tainted somehow … ruined by the sudden loss of her arm.  Regan wiped her eyes with the back of her hand again … considered standing up and throwing on one of Cullen’s tunics.  They were the easiest things to wear anymore – no buttons, and she could leave the collar untied.  But this was supposed to be a _formal_ meeting, and that tunic, despite the comfort, was in no way appropriate.  A strangled sob escaped as she curled up against the sheets and considered giving up and just hiding in her chambers the rest of the day.

“Love?”  Cullen crept up the stairs to their chambers, listening to the stifled sobs that were still so unfamiliar to him.  Throughout everything … from the moment he’d met her in the war room in Haven, up until that fateful trip through the eluvian, she’d taken everything thrown at her in stride.  Yes, she’d had moments of doubt, and even a few bouts of tears, but nothing this bad.  “Regan … dearheart?  Is everything ….”  His voice trailed off as he reached the top of the stairs and saw her in a heap on the bed, shoulders shaking with each sobbing breath.

He was at her side in an instant, dropping to his knees the moment he reached the bed.  Strong hands reached out, rubbed along her side and through her hair.  He wanted to pull her to him, assure her everything was alright.  But he knew … somehow, he knew … that that wasn’t what she needed just then.  “I’m here, love.  What can I do?  What do you need?”

Her initial reply was too muffled for him to hear; her face was buried in a pillow and any sound was garbled by sobs.  When he touched her shoulder, asked her to repeat herself, she was up like a shot, swinging her right fist at nothing awkwardly.  “I _need_ my fucking arm back.”  Her voice cracked on the last word, all the frustration she’d felt over the last few weeks finally breaking her.  “I need to beat some sense into that blasted elf and stop him from destroying _everything_ … and I … I can’t … I just ….  How can I with only one damned arm?  I can’t wield my blades, I can’t relearn a bow.  I can’t even get _dressed_ alone.  I … can’t do _anything_.  I’m fucking useless now.”

Cullen remained silent as he moved to sit next to her on the bed.  He wrapped an arm around her, pulled her to his chest, and the next thing she knew, she was curled up in his lap, sobbing into his shoulder, wetting the _expensive_ fabric of his jacket.  He ran his hand gently along her spine and pressed his lips to her hair.  “You are far from useless, love.”  He let his fingers tickle over her skin, only just _then_ realizing that the only thing she had on her upper body was the thin breast-band she had modified to be slipped on one-handed.  He couldn’t help the twitch he felt in his groin, nor the thoughts that flooded his mind, but he was cautious.  It wouldn’t do for her to think the _only_ thing he felt she was useful for now was his release.  

“Really, Cullen?  Just what use does a one-armed fighter who only knows how to use two blades have?  What use is someone who can’t even get herself _dressed_ without help?”

“Well, most nobles would say they’re the only ones who can run a country,” Cullen pointed out with an innocent smile.  He felt, more than heard, the chuckle she tried to hide, and couldn’t help but feel a little proud that he could make her laugh, even in this state.  “After all, even the King and Queen of Ferelden have people to help them dress, and I’ll bet they even help each other.”  He shifted just enough to bring his lips to her ear, praying she didn’t notice the bulge that was forming beneath her rear.  “Let me help you, love.”

She bit her lower lip, trying to fight back a fit of giggles at the thought of her old friend being strapped into whatever gown she _had_ to wear for some royal function or another.  She remembered quite well how much the other Regan hated getting dressed up; it was a feeling they shared for much of their youth.  “But … how can anyone … would anyone even ….”  She paused, tried to collect her thoughts.  “But I can’t _fight_ any longer ….  I’m not even … I mean, I’m physically not even the same woman you married.  How can you … you want to stay with a ….”

He cut her off with a kiss, lips pressed against hers, tongue sliding through the gap left by her being interrupted mid-speech.  His hands moved to her waist, tightening and pulling her against him as his hips shifted upwards, pressing the evidence he’d hoped to keep hidden against her.  He growled softly as she finally reciprocated, fingers threading through his hair.  Reluctantly, he broke the kiss to speak, peppering her face, ears and throat with soft kisses in between words.  “You are the same woman I married, Regan Trevelyan _Rutherford_ ; the same kind-hearted, stubborn, skillful, beautiful, amazing, intelligent, _beautiful_ , loving, surprising, perfectly imperfect woman I fell in love with, who took pity on a recovering addict of a templar and loved him back.”

“You … said beautiful twice,” she pointed out in between muffled sobs, feeling her cheeks burn as she shifted to straddle him, trapping his clothed erection between them.  She felt anything but beautiful right then; eyes burning, cheeks red from both the crying and the sudden blush.  Tears still filled her eyes, her lips were red-lined and chapped and she was pretty sure there was a little gunk dripping from  her nose just then … and still minus one half of an arm – _certainly_ not the mental picture of the woman he’d married.  

“Because you are, love.”  He kept one arm around her, cradling her to him as the other rose, allowing the back of his fingers to trace along her cheek.  “You are beautiful, missing arm or no.  You could be missing both arms, a leg and a … a spleen, and I’d still find you beautiful.”  He leaned in, ghosted lips against hers as he continued to trace fingers along her skin, run through her hair.  “Marrying you … was the smartest thing I have ever done, and I … I cannot imagine ever being without you.  I … I love you.”  He paused, made sure she was looking at him, paying attention.  “I know I’ve said it countless times before, but it’s as true now as it was the first time I said it, and every time since then.  I love you, Regan Rutherford … my love … _my wife_ ….”  He buried his face against her neck, breath tickling her skin as he made a whispered confession.  “The woman I’ve dreamt of starting a family with for more than two years.”

“Cullen ….”

He heard her whimper, felt her shiver against him and smiled.  It was torture … for the both of them, he knew, but he gently pushed her back.  “Maker, I _wish_ we didn’t have to make an appearance below, but I … there are people waiting ….”

“And Josephine would kill us both if we didn’t get down there soon,” she finished for him, _finally_ smiling.  

Cullen nodded, elated to see the smile grace her lips.  “And when this banquet is over, I want to carry you back up here and make you scream your husband’s name for all of Thedas to hear.”  Her answering moan was enough to make him want to reconsider going back downstairs, again.  But the threat of an angry Antivan was enough to deter him, for the moment.  “And tomorrow, we can go see if Dagna has any ideas for a … replacement arm.  She’s been itching for a new project.”  

Regan nodded slowly, wiping the remaining tears from her eyes.  “Will you help me get dressed, then?”  She reluctantly rose and walked over to the pile of shirts, plucking up the shirt she’d originally been trying to fasten and holding it out.  “And then, later … perhaps help me get … undressed?”

“Always, love,” Cullen replied, following her.  “ _Always_.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning - Trespasser spoilers, still. Regan’s been fitted with a prototype, and Cullen wants to help her get accustomed to it. Unfortunately, things aren’t going as well as either would like.
> 
> Takes place in Skyhold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I still haven’t decided whether Regan disbands the Inquisition or not.
> 
> Edited to add awesome artwork from flockofflamingos at the end.

“Alright, let’s try that again.”

“ _Again_?!  We’ve been at this for hours”

“It’s only been one, and you are still relying too much on your right side.”

“Dammit, Cullen; I need a break.”

“You asked me to keep after you … not let up until you got it right.”

“That was before I realized you’d take me _seriously_.”

“Let me make a couple adjustments.”  Dagna came running over with a tool that looked moderately like a torture device and started poking at the contraption affixed to stub of Regan’s left arm.  “I _think_ the connectors are loose, which is why you’re not getting quite the response you want.”  She popped the limb off and started tinkering with bits and pieces inside, walking over to the makeshift workbench and humming to herself while Regan slumped against the nearest fence post.

She knew Cullen meant well; he was just doing what she’d asked.  But she hadn’t expected to have this much difficulty adjusting to the new appliance.  Dagna had been ecstatic when she and Cullen and broached the subject.  A device to replace her arm that could mimic the actions she’d taken for granted would be a god-send.  It wouldn’t be able to do _everything_ … but it would be able to do more than she could without.  But, Maker’s ass, why was it so hard for her to fight the way she was used to?  Wasn’t that the point of the thing?

“You’ll get there, love.”  Cullen appeared behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist.  He knew there was little he could actually _do_ to help, other than what he already did.  He gave her someone to rant at … to yell her frustrations so she didn’t take them out on any unsuspecting runners.  His offer to work with her in the practice ring had been accepted with glee, at first.  But once they’d started and he’d been able to deflect any and all attempts she made when before he’d been scrambling to keep up, she’d realized that even _with_ the new limb, she wasn’t immediately as skilled as she had been.  Then her enthusiasm had started to wane.  “This is Dagna’s first attempt at such a thing.  It will take both of you a little time to get the issues worked out.”

She wanted to snap back, argue that she _should_ be able to pick right back up where she left off.  There should be no learning curve for this.  She wanted to, but she didn’t; she couldn’t.  She knew he was right, and just then, the feel of his lips and teeth grazing the back of her neck was enough to stop any rant before it started.  Her eyes fluttered closed as she leaned back, letting strong arms surround her.  “I’m sorry I snapped at you,” she sighed, bringing her right hand up to thread through his hair, tilting her head to give him easier access to her throat.

He grinned against her skin when he heard a soft moan just after he’d nipped at her ear.  It filled him with pride that, even after all that had happened, such a simple action on his part could earn such a sound.  “To be fair,” he whispered, fingers pressing just a bit harder into her hip, “I expected it to start about twenty minutes ago.”  He reached up, turned her face toward his and captured her lips before she could make any sort of response.  He felt her hand slide out of his hair and down to his shoulder, gripping his shirt collar as she urged his tongue deeper, parting her lips to allow him access.

She was flushed and out of sorts when Dagna returned, triumphantly holding the silverite arm.  “That should do it.  I had to add a few more nodes to catch all the signals your body _wants_ to send.   You’re a complex fighter, y’know?”  She busied herself fastening the arm back onto the stub, tightening the straps and checking buckles.  “I think we’ve got a really good dragonskin glove to put over it as well … more protection, looks more real … some _really_ nice rune-work inlaid, if I say so myself.  But we need to make sure it works properly before we add that.  Be too much work to remove it every time adjustments are needed during testing.”  She never stopped moving, checking things, and gave one last tug on a strap.  “Now give it a go.”

Regan glanced up at Cullen with a tentative smile.  She still felt guilty for yelling at him and didn’t particularly want to push her luck by getting aggravated again.  But the need for testing, and the possibility that _this_ time might be the one that worked drew her back toward the ring.  “One more try, dear husband?”  

“Might we make it more … interesting, dear wife?”  He plucked up his sword and shield and made his way over to join her.  His lips curled into a teasing half-smile, tongue darting out to lick a bit of sweat away from the scar as he waited for her nod.  He knew she was already feeling more confident when he watched her twirl one of her blades with her left hand – something she hadn’t dared try before.  When she finally prompted him to go on, he reached out, ran a finger along her jaw.  “A true sparring match to test out your new arm … winner gets a reward of _their_ choosing.”

“Sounds fair enough.”  She tried to ignore the fluttering in her stomach … and lower … at his touch.  She loved the way his fingers felt against her skin; his touch light as a feather but impossible to ignore.  She let out a disgruntled puff of air when he pulled back, only to set his weapons to the side and reach for the lower hem of his shirt.  She bit her lip as she watched him strip the sweat-soaked tunic off and fling it aside.  Dammit, he was trying to distract her.  And worse yet, it was working.  

“Ready?”

She thought about saying no … about stripping off her shirt in an attempt to distract him just as much as he was distracting her, as she often would joke about doing.  His naked torso glistening with droplets of sweat that clung to the soft golden curls leading down his chest and over his stomach only to disappear beneath trousers hugging tight, low on his hips.  She started reaching for her shirt to even the playing field, and caught a glimpse of the replacement arm, the shirt the only thing hiding that place where appliance met skin, and she faltered.  She was no longer whole, would be distracting in all the wrong ways.  But she _could_ still try and fight.  She just had to ignore just how much … she … wanted ….  “Ready.”

Cullen frowned slightly, having watched her start to relax only to be pulled back to her worries again.  He brought his shield up to fend off her first strike, swinging his sword around to knock the second away.  She came at him again, left hand swinging toward first, followed by a lower strike with the right.  Again, he blocked them easily, narrowing his eyes as he watched her.  She either wasn’t trying or had something up her sleeve, but given the expression on her face, he was leaning toward the former.  “Giving up already?”  He brought his shield around to block yet another strike, this one so obvious it almost hurt him.  She’d _never_ been this careless before.

She shrugged faintly, poking a dagger in his direction before moving to one side, slowly working her way around him.  Every strike she attempted, he blocked.  Every time she moved, he turned enough to keep her in his vision.  She was getting tired, hadn’t spent _this_ long in the practice ring since she was a little girl.  She needed to end this soon, one way or the other, or she would just fall out in front of everyone.  With a breath, she shook herself, loosening up her shoulders as best she could, forcing her gaze away from _that_ chest, _that_ smile … _that_ body to concentrate on what she needed to do.  

Her strikes picked up speed, coming at him with a ferocity that her earlier attempts had lacked.  While they were still not close to what he’d seen from her previously, it was still an improvement.  Cullen smiled as he blocked a blade, barely stepping back to miss the other coming around.  “Still some fight left in you?  Good.”  

They kept at it for another half hour.  She attempted several strikes, some even good enough to throw him off balance, though Cullen was still able to block each one.  He could see she was growing more comfortable with the new arm; it would just take more practice to get her back to where she’d been.  He wasn’t sure if she’d be willing to spar with some of the men who remained, but even if her pride kept her from practicing with them, he was willing to work with her.  Eventually, one swing of his shield was enough to knock her to the ground and when she dropped her blades, she sighed.

“Looks like you win this one, love.”

He helped her to her feet and smiled, pulling her to him.  “I think you may want to amend that statement soon, dearheart.”  He brought his lips to hers, reveling in the way her body melted against his before pulling back and leading her toward the keep … and their chambers ….  “You may decide that we both could be considered victors soon enough.”

Now, with art from flockofflamingos on Tumblr:


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